


Bulgarian Defense, English Opening

by p1013



Series: Kinkuary 2021 [8]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Come Eating, Comeplay, Drinking, HP Kinkuary 2021, Hand Jobs, Jealousy, Just Being Awesome Hermione Granger, Masturbation, Multi, POV Ron Weasley, Porn with Feelings, Quidditch Coach Viktor Krum, Quidditch Player Ron Weasley, Threesome - F/M/M, Voyeurism, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-14 21:20:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29302572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/p1013/pseuds/p1013
Summary: "It's okay," Hermione said, trailing her fingers over Ron's stomach. Her leg was thrown across his hips, his cock still half-hard. He could feel her, wet and warm, against his thigh. "If you want him."It had startled him enough to jump, but her hands stayed calm and content on his skin."I don't know what you're talking about.""Ronald." She leaned in and kissed his pectoral. "I've known you more than half of our lives. I know what you look like when you want someone."
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Viktor Krum/Ron Weasley
Series: Kinkuary 2021 [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2140512
Comments: 23
Kudos: 91
Collections: HP Kinkuary 2021





	Bulgarian Defense, English Opening

**Author's Note:**

> Day 8 - Comeplay

Where Harry had always been one to rush in, letting his heart lead rather than his head, and Hermione found all of her answers in books first, and in her heart later, Ron always started and ended with his intellect.

That's not to say that he didn't feel things or have _emotions_. He wasn't a bloody Muggle row-bot, running on elek-trick-city and ones and zeds. But he always tended towards the darker emotions, whereas Harry and Hermione always leaned into the light. They're small, determined shoots, fighting through the shadows to find whatever scraps of sunlight flicker through the canopy.

Ron? Ron's deadly nightshade hidden between the roots of shadowing trees.

It's not a trait he likes about himself, though Hermione has told him, time and time again, that it's been tempered by age. He doesn't get as angry as he used to, isn't quite as quick to rash feelings or outbursts as when they were in school. The Aurors did their best to beat it out of him, though when he left (was kicked out of) the training program, bruised and battered and corded with muscle, he didn't feel any less angry than when he started.

Quidditch saved him. It was still the early days after Auror training, and he was still aching from it. Ginny, all smiles and an inability to hear the word 'no', tricked him into playing a pick-up game in the backyard of the Burrow rather than leaving him to mope. It was just the two of them and the cool spring air. Their skin was equally tanned by sun and freckles, their arms lean and wiry — Ron from hand-to-hand combat training, Ginny from the Harpies. He fell back into the game as easily as a bird leaping from a cliff, both of them spreading their wings and _soaring_.

"You're not too bad," Ginny said afterwards, the both of them sprawled out on the grass, covered in sweat and dirt. "For an amateur."

"Well, for a professional, you're rather shite at this."

She laughed, her brown eyes sparkling. "Just wait until they see you."

"Until who sees what now?"

"Oh, don't worry about it, big brother." Ginny heaved herself from the grass, smiling down at him like she had a secret she would only tell under threat of bodily harm. "Don't you worry about it."

Months later, their pick-up game forgotten in the endless drudgery of working at Wheeze's, Ginny arrived on his and Hermione's doorstep with someone Ron never thought he'd see again.

"Krum." He took a step back, fingers inexplicably numb. "What are you…"

"Stop gaping," Ginny said before shoving her way inside. Krum at least had the decency to smile sheepishly — and to carefully avoid bumping into Ron — when he walked inside. "You have a lovely home. Thank you for having me."

"Ah, you're welcome… Ginny!"

She was making herself comfortable in the kitchen. There was a kettle already steaming on the stove, three mugs on the counter, and she was standing on her tip-toes to pull down the good Earl Grey.

"Why is Viktor Krum in my front room?" Ron hissed, pulling the tin down before she hurt herself. "And why did you bring him here?"

"You don't remember?" She put everything on a tray, then hefted it easily before heading towards the front room. "I was sure you'd remember. C'mon, this'll take a bit to explain."

The Harpies were starting a sister… well, _brother_ , team. 

"The Satyrs," Krum said, his accent softer than Ron remembered, though he trilled the final R. "They are only male, you see? To counterpoint the Harpies."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Not that we're only allowing men to play on the team. Ruins the whole point of it all, doesn't it? But the club wants to branch out into the European Quidditch League, and they're still following some fucking antiquated rules about who can or can't play on sanctioned teams, and — "

"Ginevra." Krum snatched Ginny's hand out of the air like it was a Snitch, a quick, competent move Ron almost didn't see happen. "The point."

"The point," she said, taking her hand back with fond irritation in her voice, "is that we're looking to recruit, and you're the best bloody Keeper I know."

Ron knew the question she was going to ask, and he gave her an answer before she could even open her mouth.

"Yes."

* * *

It's three years later, and Ron hovers in front of their practice goal posts. His training uniform is stuck to his back with sweat and a bit of blood — a Bludger got him in the left shoulder earlier, leaving an abrasion that's been oozing ever since — and the Chaser squadron is barreling down on him again. They're in perfect formation, the Quaffle a red blur as it's passed between them, and a second later, it's zipping by his fingers, his reach just short of stopping the ball from sailing through the hoops.

"Shit!"

A shrill whistle echoes across the field, and Ron sags. He flies listlessly to the base of the goal posts where the head coach is waiting.

"Good job, Satyrs!" Krum nods to the team as they gather. "I am seeing good improvement on that formation, Chasers. Blagojevich, you need to keep your eyes open on your left. You nearly missed three passes from Silva."

Blagojevich mutters quietly to himself in Serbian, and Krum responds in the same. It's a flowing run of consonants and high vowels, sibilant S's and trilling R's. Ron's only barely able to tell it apart from Krum's native Bulgarian, but the Serbian is harsher, stronger.

It doesn't feel like a wide palm placed in the small of Ron's back, doesn't make his blood turn hot and liquid.

Blagojevich says something that must be a swear, because Krum blows his whistle and starts speaking at such a clip that Ron can't even pretend to keep up. A moment later, his face flushed, Blagojevich storms off the pitch.

"Idiot." Krum turns to the rest of the team. "Hit the showers. Weasley, come with me."

Ron throws his broom to Silva before trailing after Krum. The man doesn't go too far. He's still in the shadow of the goal posts, his black eyes staring up at the hoops.

"How is your shoulder?"

Ron shrugs, though it makes him wince. "It'll be fine once I get a Healer to look at it."

"You do not need a trainer? There is no issue of mobility?"

"No." He rolls his shoulder again. "It's just a scrape, nothing serious."

"Good, good. I would not want you injured."

"Before the game."

Another black glance. "Not at all."

Ron curses his fair complexion and tendency towards flushing. "Of course."

* * *

"It's okay," Hermione said, trailing her fingers over Ron's stomach. Her leg was thrown across his hips, his cock still half-hard. He could feel her, wet and warm, against his thigh. "If you want him."

It had startled him enough to jump, but her hands stayed calm and content on his skin.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Ronald." She leaned in and kissed his pectoral. "I've known you more than half of our lives. I know what you look like when you want someone."

He grabbed her, pulled her close. Even though they'd just had sex, even though they weren't frantic teenagers anymore and doing it twice in a single night was pushing it, he slotted her warm cunt over his cock, let her ride the half-hard ridge of it until it wasn't half anything anymore. "I want _you_."

She kissed him, her fingers tangled in his hair, her lips curled into a smile. "I know. But it's okay if you want more."

When he slid into her body, his come from earlier easing the way between them, he hadn't thought about what she might mean.

Or, being Hermione, what she might do.

* * *

"Ron, get the door!" Hermione leans back from the kitchen, her wet hands wrapped around a towel. "I've got to get the chicken in the oven, or we won't be eating tonight."

He sets down his _Quidditch World Weekly_ with a sigh, then hurries to the front door. "Don't threaten dinner, luv. You know that's playing dirty."

Her laughter dancing after him, Ron's grinning when he opens the door. His smile turns wooden as he takes in their visitor, though.

"Viktor." Ron stills, uncertain. "Krum. Coach Krum. I, um…"

"Viktor is fine." He smiles and holds a bottle of wine out. "Hermione told me to bring wine."

"She told you to…"

"For dinner." Krum — _Viktor_ frowns down at the label. "I think it is a good vintage. We are having chicken, yes? White is the right color?"

"Yeah, it's fine." Ron takes the bottle from him, or Viktor sets it in Ron's hand. He isn't entirely sure which of them is the one taking the action and which is receiving it, but somehow the bottle is passed between their hands before Viktor steps into the house. "You're here for dinner?"

"Yes, Hermione invited me weeks ago." His usually calm expression turns confused, and there's a hint of red in the apples of his high cheeks. "I am not too early, am I?"

"Viktor!" Hurrying from the kitchen, Hermione wraps him in a hug, the still damp towel hung over her shoulder. "Thank you so much for joining us. I do apologize, I meant to have food on the table when you arrived, but there was a bit of a problem with the oven."

"Ah, it is no trouble, no trouble at all." Viktor steps back from Hermione, letting her hands fall into his. "You are lovely as ever. Like the first blossom of spring."

"Stop, you're too much." Hermione lets his hands fall from hers before gesturing to the front room. "You're welcome to take a seat in here, or if you'd rather sit at the table, the dining room is just through there. Ron, why don't you open the wine?"

Feeling a bit like he's taken a Bludger to the side of his head, Ron wobbles his way to the kitchen, trying to reorient his life so that his long-term girlfriend inviting her former boyfriend and Ron's current coach over for dinner _without telling Ron_ makes any sense. All he can think of, though, is Viktor's hands holding Hermione's, and the ease with which Hermione had her arms around his neck, and Ron feels old, forgotten emotion blossom in his gut like poisonous flowers.

He pours two glasses of wine and two fingers of Scotch. Quickly downing his drink, he pours another two fingers, then walks into the dining room where Hermione and Viktor are talking like old friends.

He doesn't know why it didn't occur to him that they might be.

Dinner passes in a blur of sick jealousy and the burn of alcohol in his throat. If Hermione or Viktor notice anything, they don't say a word, choosing instead to catch up and let Ron slowly drink himself into a temper. By the time dessert comes out — a lemon chiffon cake Ron didn't know Hermione knew how to make — his low simmer is about to tip into a boil.

"So," he says, interrupting some story of Viktor's first season playing professional Quidditch. "What's this all about, then?"

Viktor's voice stutters to a halt.

Hermione's tone is light, but forced. "What did you say, Ron?"

"I said" — he finishes his drink and sets the glass a bit too heavily on the table before gesturing between her and Viktor — "what is this all about?"

"I thought…" Viktor looks at Hermione in shock. "I thought you were going to talk to him first. I would not have…"

Hermione looks embarrassed. "I was going to, but I thought about it, and I think it's going to be easier this way."

"You're leaving me," Ron blurts out, his heart cracking in his chest. "Fuck."

"What?!" Hermione's eyes are wide and stunned. "What, Ron, no!" She hurries over to him, grabbing his face in her hands. "Ronald Bilius Weasley, don't you ever think that. I love you. Oh, darling." She kisses him, and he's still too stunned, too confused, too sore, to do anything but let her rain gentle, comforting kisses on his cheeks and brow and nose. "Darling, no."

Viktor shifts in his chair, looking uncomfortable. "I should go."

There's some calculation going on behind Hermione's eyes that Ron can't decipher. "No, Viktor. Stay."

"I don't…" Ron swallows, wishes he had more Scotch. "I don't understand. If you're not… if the two of you aren't…"

"Ron." Hermione's smile is uncertain for the first time in the evening. "He's not here for me."

"He's… Then why?"

Ron's always prided himself on his intelligence, his eye for strategy. He's a smart man, a calculated one, and as he looks from Hermione to Krum and then back again, his brain finally catches up.

"What?!"

Viktor stands. "This was a bad idea. Thank you, Hermione, for a lovely dinner. Ron, I will see you at practice on Monday."

Hermione's foot is loud on the floor. "Don't you dare! Viktor, sit. Ron, listen." 

She looks between the two of them, then lets out a long-suffering sigh. 

"You want each other." She holds up a restraining hand. "And before either of you say a word to the contrary, I want you to look at each other, _really_ look, and tell me you don't."

Viktor glances at Ron, but he doesn't pull his eyes away as usual. Instead, he lets them travel from the top of Ron's head to where his body disappears behind the dining room table. His cheeks grow red as he meets Ron's eyes again, and though his eyes are dark, Ron can tell that his pupils are wide.

Ron is suffused with heat. It's like he's just done suicide sprints for the last hour, and sweat is gathering at the back of his neck, between his shoulders, in the dip of his back. His trousers grow tight in the front, and he wrenches his eyes away.

Hermione's smug when she says, "Exactly."

"What're you doing, Hermione?" Ron asks, his voice thick with repressed desire and drink.

"I'm trying to make you happy. To make the both of you happy."

Ron shakes his head. "I don't understand how this isn't you wanting to break up with me."

"Please don't take this the wrong way, Ron, but you're an idiot." She laughs when he glares at her, though it sounds a bit forced. "Before you think this is some selfless act where I'm pushing you into the arms of another man for your own good, I've no plans on letting the two of you walk off into the sunset without me. And this doesn't even have to be anything as trite as romance. It could just be this one time. Just an… experiment. To see what you like." Her eyes are dark when she looks up from her hands. Her lip is red when she catches it between her teeth. "And what I'd like is to watch."

"Merlin, Hermione." Ron's not sure if he's shocked or horrified or more turned on than he's ever been before in his life. His cock is hard and aching, and when Viktor stands from his seat and walks over to Ron's, Ron isn't certain he's breathing anymore.

"If this is a problem," Viktor asks, his voice low and rolling, "tell me to stop."

Ron doesn't say a word.

Kissing Viktor is nothing like kissing Hermione. His mouth is wider, and his cheeks are rough with stubble. When he grabs Ron's chin in his hand to tilt Ron's head to the side, his fingers are rough with calluses and broader than Hermione's.

They don't make Ron want any less.

He loses himself to the kiss, washed away on a wave of unleashed wanting that has him panting for breath and reaching for the shore of Viktor's shoulders and neck. His fingers bite into the heavy muscle, the dark hair, and Ron swears he's going to drown anyway when he hears Hermione's shuddering moan.

He pulls away, eyes glassy, and watches as she watches them. She has one hand pressed to the front of her trousers, her fingers pushing insistently against the center seam, while the other caresses her neck and the bare skin of her chest. When she catches Ron's eyes, she reaches for the buttons of her cardigan, undoing them slowly as Viktor's mouth moves from Ron's lips to his jaw and then neck.

"We should — " Ron gasps when Viktor bites. "Ah, fuck. We should move."

"The dining room is not an appropriate setting," Viktor agrees before standing and adjusting himself in his trousers. "I do not wish to presume."

Hermione, always one to go after what she wants with a single-minded focus and determination, smiles. "Bedroom."

Lost in a haze of alcohol and lust, Ron lets himself follow after Viktor. He stares, unabashedly, at the well-muscled strength of him. The broad shoulders, the tapered waist, the firm buttocks and thick thighs. He's seen Viktor almost every day for the last three years, but this is the first time Ron's allowed himself to _look_.

To appreciate.

His and Hermione's shared bedroom isn't large, but there's a small armchair in the corner, and the bed is wide and expansive. She pushes Krum down onto the faded coverlet, then pulls off her jumper, then her shirt, before sitting in the armchair, her legs spread wide, while Ron tries to figure out what to do.

"Kiss him," she says gently, patient when he feels anything but.

He's stymied by lust, by wanting. Viktor seems to understand what Ron needs and reaches for him, pulling him down to the bed before rolling the bulk of his form over top of Ron's, setting into the spread vee of his legs.

"Have you been with men before?" Viktor asks, his wide, wide hand pulling the hem of Ron's shirt from his trousers.

Ron can't breathe, much less respond. Instead, he shakes his head, raises a shaking hand to touch Viktor's neck.

"Then we will start slow. It will feel good, but we will not do anything you are uncomfortable with." He smiles coyly. "We will save more for next time, yes?"

Maybe Ron _is_ a row-bot because something electric goes off in his brain. A series of sharp, bright sparks that ricochet from the top of his head to pool, low and aching, in his gut. Before he can parse what they might be, though, Viktor makes everything blank out with his lips and hands across Ron's body.

He undresses Ron slowly, baring freckled skin inch by inch before exploring it all with his lips. After years on the Quidditch pitch, Viktor's hands are rough and calloused from holding onto brooms, and they catch on Ron's skin as they drag across it. Ron arches into the friction, his fingers buried in the coverlet because he doesn't know where else to put them, where to put them first, where to put them last, how to take them back without aching at the loss.

Hermione watches avidly from the chair. She sheds her remaining clothes until she's bare. One hand plays with a nipple, the other her clit. Ron glances at her every few minutes, checks in to make sure she's enjoying herself, and judging by the way her hips rise and fall and her half-parted eyes and lips, she is.

Viktor's mouth is hot against the fly of Ron's trousers, and he bucks up, cursing, into the caress.

"Sorry," he gasps, uncertain of what the etiquette is here. "I didn't…"

"I would be disappointed if I thought you meant that." Viktor thumbs Ron's trousers open. "Lift your hips."

Ron does as he's told, and Viktor takes off his trousers and pants in one easy motion. Lying naked on his bed, he stares down at Viktor crouched between Ron's legs, and he has to slam his eyes shut at the image or risk coming already.

Counting back slowly from fifty, Ron's around twenty-eight when there's a light touch on his ankle. He cracks one eye open, then curses.

Viktor's gloriously naked. It's not the first time that Ron's had an opportunity to see Viktor without a shirt, but the context of his bedroom, rather than the crowded locker room after practice, makes him shiver. Viktor is well-muscled. He believes in working with his team, in putting in the same sweat, blood, and tears that the players do. That means hours in the training room, moving from station to station as he checks in with his players, confirms they're doing their exercises correctly, that they have what they need, that the trainers are practicing the latest therapies. He doesn't do it every day, but it's enough that his body is lean, strong.

Viktor runs a hand over the thick patch of hair covering his chest down to the slight bulge of his stomach, to the significantly larger bulge of his prick. Ron isn't small — he's a tall man, after all, and everything about him is in proportion — but Viktor is thick and heavy. He runs his hand from the tip of his cock to the base, then lower, cradling his balls close to his body as he lets his eyes roam across Ron's body.

"You are a very attractive man," he says before stroking himself to the tip and down again. "I do not think you know this."

"I… uh…" Ron doesn't know what to think, but Viktor laughs, not unkindly, then places his hand on Ron's hip.

"May I touch you?" His rough fingers sit in the hollow of Ron's hip, but they don't move any closer. Their stillness is nearly as erotic as Viktor's continually moving hand.

It takes Ron a minute to get his voice, to get his heart to move from his throat back to his chest. "Yes," he finally manages, and then he curses because those calluses on his cock are even better than when they were on his skin.

He feels like he should be doing more, but as Ron writhes against the sheets, his body on fire in a way it hasn't been since he was a stupid teenager and just figuring out what wanking was, he can't keep his mind clear enough to do more than moan and curse and fumble blindly for Viktor's hand on Ron's cock. The bed dips as Viktor climbs back onto it, and then his hand is gone. Ron watches, stunned, as Viktor wraps it around the both of them, stroking slow and easy over their combined lengths, dragging come from the tips of their cocks to smear it across their skin.

"You will look lovely coated in my spend," he says quietly, eyes almost closed. "Your skin, it will glow after."

Ron's hips lift of their own accord. "Ah, shite."

"Do it," Hermione urges from her chair. She's panting now, her head thrown back, but her eyes still open on the pair of them. "Viktor, please."

He looks back at Ron and smiles, just a quick upturn of one side of his mouth. "Should we give the lady what she wants?" he asks, his wrist twisting with intent over the heads of their cocks. "She makes such a polite request. Should we make her happy?"

Ron can't do anything but curse and thrust futilely against the steady pace of Viktor's fist.

"What do you want, Ron?" he asks, his rolling voice sending goose pimples across Ron's skin. "Tell me."

"Oh, Merlin." He's shivering, but not from cold. He can't stop. "Yes."

Eyes crinkled at the corners, Viktor shifts his body, lets Ron's cock drop from his hand, and then starts moving over his own prick with vicious purpose. "Arms up. I want to see you."

Throwing them over his head to grab at the coverlet, Ron holds on while Viktor's eyes roam across Ron's body. He trails a hand after his gaze, pinching Ron's nipple, holding his hip against the bed, tightening around Ron's thigh to the point where Ron thinks he'll have bruises in the morning.

With a violent string of curses in Bulgarian, Viktor's body curls in on itself, and Ron feels the somewhat familiar sensation of come spattering across his lower abdomen, but then higher, across his pecs, in the hollow of his throat, along the curve of his jaw and the apple of his cheek. A moment later, Viktor's finger trails through the mess, smearing it into Ron's skin, spelling words and making designs, connecting freckles together with Viktor's pale spend.

"Yes," he says, voice ragged and soft."Yes, you do look lovely, don't you?"

Hermione cries out a moment later, and Ron watches as she comes, her legs shaking, her lip caught between her teeth and bleeding from where she's bitten through. She laughs quietly as she comes down from her high, her hand still buried between her thighs, moisture glistening on her fingers and skin.

"Your turn," she says before standing a little unsteadily. As she approaches the bed, Viktor falls to the side and stretches.

Ron isn't quite sure what he should do, but he knows it won't take long for him to come, not after all that. He lets Hermione nestle into the space between his body and Viktor's, watches as she turns her head to the side to let Viktor capture her mouth in a soft, sated kiss. She turns back to Ron while Viktor trails his lips up and down the column of her neck, then reaches for Ron before pulling him in.

He and Hermione kiss, and this feels familiar. This feels like contentment and settled ease, like a warm flame banked, but no less scorching. The coals are always the hottest part of a fire, and as he falls into the familiar push and pull of Hermione's mouth on his, Ron blazes.

He gets on his knees, one settled between Hermione's legs, one in the space between hers and Viktor's. It doesn't take him long, just a few expert twists of his hand, a few shaking caresses of Hermione's cunt, of Viktor's softening cock.

When he orgasms, he does it so hard, it hurts. Gasping and groaning, spurts of white jet out of him and over Hermione and Viktor, coating the both of them in his come. They're darker skinned than he is, and he can see every single trail of semen as it paints their bodies.

Hermione runs her fingers through the mess, then brings them to her mouth, licking them clean. Viktor smears it into his furred chest and abdomen until there's nothing but a darkened patch to show that anything had happened between them a moment earlier.

Ron wants to slump forward, but there isn't enough space on the bed between Hermione and Viktor, so he throws himself to Hermione's side, nearly falling off of the bed as she laughs at him.

"Budge over," she says fondly to Viktor, who shifts just enough so that Ron doesn't feel like he's one mistimed exhale from falling onto the floor.

They lie there quietly for a moment, all of them catching their breaths, before Ron speaks.

"I still don't know what to think about this," he says, tucking an errant curl behind Hermione's ear, "but I can't say I didn't like it."

"You will like it more next time," Viktor says with confidence from the other side. He doesn't reach for Ron or look at him, just smiles up at the ceiling, eyes closed. "I have plans for you, Ron."

Ron has to admit, he already has plans, too.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is based on chess moves. The English Opening is an actual opening move in chess, while the Bulgarian Defense is me kind of smudging the format so it fits the story. I mean, whatever works, right?
> 
> Big old thanks to veelawings and slytherco for helping me figure out the idea for today. It was supposed to be short, but we all know how that goes around here.... One day, I will write actual PWP. That is not today.


End file.
